Miracle On Ice (Oneshots)
by mcclanahansbackhand
Summary: A collection of 1980 US Olympic Hockey Team one-shots. All are based on true events.
1. This Moment is Yours

He dodged left and right down the narrow hallway and through the crowd, trying to make his way into Locker Room 5 of the Olympic arena.

He stood at a mere 5'10", which terminated any hopes he had of being able to effectively navigate where he was going. Squeezing through the small spaces, he had only one thing on his mind; Sweaty hair and a missing tooth would not give off the best impression on national television.

Upon a successful entry, his teammates began to chant his name repeatedly. This, he was used to, yet there remained a striking difference from all the other times. This wasn't his teammates, jeering at his overly serious 'Type A' personality, trying to fluster him. Nor was it his friends, attempting to uplift his morale after he had been torn apart by his coach.

This was his family, with whom he had just defeated Finland, telling him that all his hard work had paid off. They were chanting his name because he, Rob McClanahan, had just won the United States a gold medal.


	2. Chasing Chances

He was unbreakable. Or so others thought. He was almost certain that Robby McClanahan wouldn't look him in the eyes. Once, he had creamed Steve Christoff in a fight at the 1978 Sports Festival, and escaped without a scratch. The scar down his cheek, earned at a bar as opposed to a hockey rink, usually led others to believe his 'tough guy' persona. A couple of missing teeth formed a smile that showed a whopping mix of emotion and intensity.

But today, he certainly was not smiling. Today, he was indeed broken. Not just his dream, but his entire morale. And now in just a few short minutes, he would find out if his knee faced a similar fate.

Looking around the room, he wondered why doctors offices always had paintings on the walls. Perhaps it was an attempt to cheer up a patient after their misfortune. Yet, he knew nothing but five words would be able to have such an effect on him.

"It's just a stretched ligament."

Unsure of whether or not he had heard correctly, he confirmed, "So you're saying I can play in the Olympics?"

Putting a firm hand on his shoulder, the doctor replied, "I'm saying you have a chance, Jack."


	3. We're a Family

When he imagined playing for the Olympic Team, this was the absolute last thing he had in mind. Two months ago, he had been thrilled at the sound of his name being read off a piece of paper. Now, he was beginning to regret it all. Unsure of whether he was dead or alive, he picked his head up off the ice, awaiting the next sprint. It wasn't until now that he realized why they were called suicides.

"Again!"

An hour ago he had finished a hockey game, exhausted. In this moment, he was certain that he would never see his family again. Other people were out partying at bars, while he was being skated to his demise in a dark and vacant arena somewhere in Europe. As his legs gave out upon reaching the goal line, he felt a subtle nudge. Looking up at the player bent over next to him, he searched for any kind of humor in this moment.

"What color flowers do you want at your funeral? I've already decided on mine," the small smirk on (whom he assumed was) Robby McClanahan's face faded upon hearing the blow of a whistle.

"Again!"

As the team began the drill once more, he looked to around and noticed guys on the ground that couldn't even make it to the first blue line. Gathering his remaining energy, he pushed his feet through the ice with sights set on the returning goal line.

Hearing the moans from his teammates and the sounds of bodies collapsing on the ice, he felt himself overcome with rage. What they were being forced to do was ridiculous. The next moment occurred so fast he wasn't even sure if it had happened. With all the strength he had left, he swung his stick against the boards.

In the darkness of the arena, he heard his coach rap out, "If anyone breaks another stick against the boards I will skate you 'till you die!"

Falling to his knees, he felt two hands wrap around his midsection, and before he knew it he was being helped onto his feet.

"Don't go quitting on me now, Magic. If you go down, then I should already be six feet under, and I'm just not ready for that yet," His teammate assured through heavy breathes.

As the two helped each other to the goal line, Mark replied, "I don't know if I can hold out any longer, Robby."

"Yes, you can. We'll get through this together, because we're family. And family doesn't turn their backs on each other."


	4. A Pheasant Fiasco

"Happy Birthday, Billy!" He called out, entering the Burnsville apartment complex's function room with his girlfriend in tow.

"Hey, what about me?" Neal Broten piped up with mock-anger, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Happy Birthday to you too, Brots. How old are you turning, fourteen?"

"Thirteen, actually," Robby McClanahan chimed in from a seat at the large table the boys had set up for the gathering.

"If I'm thirteen, then how come I can drink beer and drive a car and..." Neal squeaked, his voice trailing off.

Setting his present over at the table, he assumed now would be the ideal time to introduce everyone to his girlfriend from back home.

"Hey guys, this is my girlfriend," He beamed, motioning to her.

"When's the wedding?" Jack O'Callahan smirked, striking his beer glass with a fork.

"Somebody cut him off, he's drunk before midnight!"

Walking over to the table currently filled to capacity with pheasants and turkey, he sat down next to Robby and Steve Christoff, while his girlfriend went to mingle with the other plus one's. Despite the fact that they were from Minnesota, he still was able to get along with them. In fact, he was able to get along with just about anyone from anywhere. That, he assumed, was the trait which earned him the vote for team captain.

"So you guys actually hunted these things?" He mused, staring at the already half-eaten pheasant in front of him.

"Billy and Buzz did. I wouldn't engage in such inhumane acts," Rob quipped, shaking his head.

"Oh, but you'll eat them?" Steve countered, pointed his fork at Robby. "You're supporting hunting by eating the game you know."

Rolling his eyes, Rob remarked, "No, It's a part of the food chain, along with Darwin's theory of survival of the fittest. Afterall, I am the fittest, and I'm surviving, by eating this pheasant."

"Yeah, okay..."

Zoning out of the Minnesotans's conversation, he took a sip of the punch concocted by OC and Jack Huges, and immediately spit it out. "Hey, OC, what's in this punch? Super or unleaded?"

"Very funny," Jack Hughes yelled from across the room. "It's beer and cranberry!"

Many hours and many beers later, the soiree began to unravel.

With music blasting and people everywhere, he almost missed the pheasant bone that flew across the room, hitting Dave Christian's cheek. As a result, Dave picked up a piece of turkey from his plate and flung it at Neal. In a chain reaction, pheasant was flying all over the room in a food fightish fashion.

Then, there was cake. It was indeterminate, who threw the first slice, but it hit Robby straight in the face. In retailation, Rob thrusted his beer towards Eric Strobel, who smushed his cake onto Ken Morrow's head. Buzz's wife, Gayle, and a few other dates, even got in on the action.

Bobby Suter, whose ankle was newly broken, poured his beer over someone's head, and Mark Pavelich joined him. Moments later, the victim, soaked in beer and cake, had had enough. His favorite disco shirt was a mess, and his hair was completely drenched to the point where his bald spot was visible.

"Geez, I've never him this angry," Billy chuckled, picking the pheasant scraps off of his sweater.

"Rizzo, calm down! It's just party!" Buzz called out, barely able to keep a straight face.

"I don't need this aggravation!" Storming towards the exit, Mike Eruzione grabbed his girlfriend by the arm.

"C'mon, we're outta here, Donnah!"


	5. Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**November 27, 1979**

"Alright boys, this is the first game on home turf that we've had in awhile. It's alright that we started out rusty in the first period, but let's get it back now!" The captain's voice beamed, as the team mentally prepared for the second period.

"We're down by two goals," Mac groaned, massaging his temples. "No offense Rizzo, but I don't think an uplifting speech is the remedy for our shitty performance."

"Don't worry, Robby! I'll put in some goals for ya!" Neal squeaked, acting out his goal celebration.

"Brots, is that your goal celebration or your imitation of a dying cat?" OC chuckled from the corner of the room, where he was currently nursing a hurt shoulder.

"If you actually celebrate like that, I wouldn't be surprised if the referees subtract a goal from us," Robby spat, rolling his eyes.

"Ah, come on now, Ricky, don't be so pessimistic! I bet we're going to have a great second period," The Wisconsinite proclaimed from across the locker room.

"If by great you mean 'so horrible that we embarrass ourselves and never want to play hockey again', then I agree," Steve Christoff mumbled with his head in his hands.

"Don't you go jumping on the Mac train now too, Riff!" The Wisconsinite retorted. "We have enough negativity from him already!"

"I don't know, man. I kind of agree with them. We lost our last three games against the Canadians. What makes you think it'll turn around now?" Silky quipped, a look of uncertainty overtaking his face.

"Come on boys, let's get rolling!" Craig Patrick called into the USA locker room, signally it was time for them to take the ice yet again.

As the team proceeded onto the ice, the Wisconsin defenseman mumbled to Mac, "This is going to be a great twenty minutes of hockey. You'll see."

Winking, he stepped foot onto the ice and began skating laps. Looking up at the scoreboard, he felt little worry about the zero that stood below USA.

As the horn blew, Herb called out, "Starting line is up, let's create some options now!"

As the teams lined up on the face off, tensions were so high that the air would soon be lacking  
oxygen. Once the ref dropped the puck, Mark Johnson shot it over to his right wing, Eric Strobel, who began breaking out on the right side. Feigning a shot, his attempt to pass to Robby McClanahan came up short, and the puck ended up being intercepted by Kevin Maxwell.

As the Canadian forward broke out of his zone, he made a move around Ken Morrow, leaving his defense partner and left wing tailing him two on one.

As USA's defenseman was being shoved off by Maxwell, the Wisconsinite's skate got caught in a crack in the ice. In an instance, another crack was heard, which sent the player down onto the ice in a hurry.

Once Mac had shook Maxwell off the puck, the whistle blew signaling a break in the play. The left wing turned around to find his defenseman sprawled out on the ice, yelping in pain, surrounded by Team USA's four other players.

As he joined the huddle of players, he felt a hard whack on the back of his head. Turning, he was met by Maxwell's glance, and immediately dropped his gloves.

Back in the locker room, Bobby Suter heard footsteps coming around the hallway.

"I don't need any x-rays," he called out from the training table, where he was sitting as Doc examined his ankle.

"How about ice?" Bob's glance was met by Mac, who was sporting a black eye.

"Ah, so you got into a fight for me, Ricky? Kicked out of the game, how scandalous! I told you it was going to be a wild second period!"

Making his way over to the table, Rob handed him the ice and quietly responded, "No, you told me it was going to be 'great'. That was not great."

"So you got your ass whooped, big deal. Actually, I'm sure the crowd thought it was magnificent. Definitely a wonderful, memory-filled hockey period."

"Wonderful? Are you kidding me? You're hurt!" Robby exclaimed, motioning to Bob's ankle.

"I may be fractured, Robby, but I'm not broken."

Unable to tell whether Bob was speaking literally or figuratively, Rob assured him, "You are right. You'll be better by our Christmas tourney, so you can give that prick Maxwell a piece of payback."

Smiling, Bob took the bag of ice off his ankle and held it against Robby's face. "See, now there's some optimism! I'll gladly punch his lights out, since no one, and I mean absolutely no one, messes with my Ricky and gets away with it."


	6. Under Pressure

"How do you feel being demoted from the first line to the fourth? Can you explain what happened?" A voice called out from the slew of reporters swarming the players at the Olympic Arena.

"I am pretty much indifferent to it. In fact, I don't believe it was a demotion at all. If my skills are needed much more on one line than another, well then, I am happy to contribute wherever I belong. And Herb felt I would best contribute with Wells and Verchota. That is what happened," he replied, with a jubliant grin and spring in his step.

"Do you think that you deserve better? How has your father reacted?" Another voice shouted from the crowd.

"I don't believe that at all. I am perfectly happy no matter where I play, as long as I get to contribute, no matter how much," he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"But how does your father feel about this? Doesn't he want you to carry on his legacy?" The reporter continued, outstretching his microphone.

"I don't think he minds, he just wants to see me actively involved. As long as I don't quit, well even if I did quit, he'll always support me. That's a fact."

"Does Herb give you special treatment because of your father? Do you believe you are living up to his expectations?"

Taken aback by the question, he paused for a moment before shaking his head. "Absolutely not. When I was little, my dad used to coach Herbie, and he was a toughie. So if anything, I think he might be looking to get payback on our family more so than giving me any special treatment." With a small chuckle, he began heading towards the team bus when he suddenly stopped and turned back around.

"While you may assume that I have to live up to standards that meet my dad's accomplishments, in reality you guys, the media, are the only ones that make me out to be under pressure. That couldn't be farther from the truth."

You really don't believe you have any pressure on yourself?"

"I really don't. You know why? 'Cause I'm not my dad. I'm not Art. Hell, I'm not even close to being Mark Johnson. But that doesn't bother me one bit. Because I'm not living up to anyone else's standards. I'm Eric. Eric Strobel, and I couldn't be happier being me."


	7. Battle Wounds

_February 9th, 1980_  
 **Madison Square Garden**

"I got 'em covered, watch the left, Mac!" Mark Johnson called out during his team's current penalty kill.

Hearing the centerman's instructions, the left wing darted across the ice to cover Soviet forward Valeri Kharlamov, who had just received the puck.

"Shooter, shooter!" Jim Craig warned his teammates from Team USA's net.

As Kharlamov's stick wound up for a slapshot, Rob McClanahan dove to the ice to block the shot. He was known for being an effective penalty killer, keeping the other team off the scoreboard more than adding points for his own. However, absorbing the impact of slapshots often came with a risk.

As the puck sailed towards the US player, it connected directly with his skate.

"Shit!" He exclaimed as a surge of pain shot up his ankle, while Mark cleared the deflected shot into the Soviet zone.

"You alright, Robby?" Eric Strobel asked, kneeling down as the ref blew his whistle.

"Puck to the ankle," the injured player managed to squeak out, steadying himself on his knees. Gaining the support of Mark and Eric, he leaned on his linemates and got to his feet. As they skated him over to the bench, Doc replaced Eric by Robby's side.

"See if you can go. If not, let's get you iced and examined, okay Mac?"

Nodding, Rob whinced as he tried to shift his weight onto both ankles. "Ouch," he yelped, taking the weight off his injured foot.

"Herb I'm taking him out!" Doc called out to Herb, who appeared to be preoccupied on the bench.

As the two made their way to the locker room, Doc exclaimed, "What's with all these casualties? First Ralph and Bobby, then Wells gets sick, and now you? I better not see anymore injured players tonight. Not for our team... Take your skates off, Mac. No sense in wasting your energy in this game. I'll get you some ice."

Rob bit his lip, fearful of the potential extent of his injury. Untying his skates, his noticed a large red welt on the inner bone of his ankle. "That's gonna leave a nice shinner," He muttered to himself.

Returning with ice, Doc set it aside and knelt down beside Rob, who was sitting in his locker stall. Feeling the ankle and watching Rob's facial expressions, he concluded that it was going to be a non-threatening, but nasty bruise.

"Keep ice on it and stay off your feet until the game ends. I will check on you in a bit between periods," Doc advised, as he left the locker room to go back to the bench, incase of another player injury.

Now, waiting for the third period to end, Rob could not stop himself from repeatedly examining his ankle. The more purple it became, the more anxious he was. As he was just about to test his walking ability, he heard the locker room door open.

Peering around the corner, he spotted Doc and Gary Smith, the team's trainer, practically carrying one of his teammates. The player was moaning in pain, leading Rob to believe this was some sort of serious injury.

"Stay here and don't move. We are going to get you ice and have you taken to the hospital."

Once Doc and Smitty exited the examining area of the locker room, Rob snuck his way in, favoring one ankle over the other. Upon turning the corner, he made eye contact with his injured teammate.

"What happened to you?"

"Vilikov blew my knee out," he responded, half sobbing with watery eyes.

"Was it cheap?" Rob questioned, focusing in on his teammate's injured knee.

"Hello, are you stupid? They're Russians. They hate us. Of course it was a cheap shot."

Not sure of what to say next, Rob let the room fill with silence before murmuring, "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I-I'm sorry that this happened to you."

"Shit, McClanahan, I don't need your pity. Just go cry in the corner about your purple ankle. I'm sure that's the worst crisis you've ever faced. You know, if your shins and feet weren't attached by fucking twigs, that wouldn't have happened to you." Resting his head down on the training table, the injuried defenseman let out a large sigh. "Ah, I'm sorry man. That was uncalled for. I'm just a little shaken up, that's all."

"Rightfully so. But you're tough. You're a lot tougher than I am. In fact, I think you are the toughest person on this team. And if anyone can handle a knee injury and make a comeback, it's you Jack."

"You deserve a lot more credit, you know that McClanahan? Everyone says you're this snotty, spoiled rich kid, but I think you are actually quite the opposite. Although it took nearly four months to see the real you, I recognize a team player when I see one. Thanks for having faith in me, but my faith lies in the hands of an x-ray now."

Clapping a hand on Jack's shoulder, Robby replied, "Everyone says you're this tough guy from Charlestown who won't say no to a fight. And that's one hundred percent accurate about you. So keep fighting, OC, 'cause you've got a helluva chance."

"This injury, this team, it's worth the fight. I'm gonna have a nice battle wound to add to my collection when this is all said and done. But for now, you'll see. They'll all see. OC's gonna be playing in the Olympics, baby!


	8. Legs Feed the Wolf

"What the hell is he planning now?" Dave Silk groaned from the line of hockey players following their coach outside of the Olympic arena.

"Assume the worst," Phil muttered from the back of the pack, massaging his temples. "This is Herbie we're dealing with."

"Why the fuck would he tell us to keep our gear on?" Jack whispered, motioning to his shoulder pads.

"I'm surprised he didn't tell us to keep our skates on," Mac responded from next to Jack, while crisscrossing the suspenders of his hockey pants around his shoulders.

"Why do you always do that with your suspenders, Ricky? You look fucking ridiculous!" Bob Suter chirped from the other side of Jack.

"At least I don't walk around with a bowl cut," Robby replied, motioning towards John Harrington.

"Whoa! Shots fired!" Buzzy mock-yelled, pretending to resuscitate Bah, who apparently had been zoned out long enough to not have heard the insult to his hair.

"Guys, come on! Let's all focus on whatever Herb has planned for us, okay?" Rizzo shouted from the front of the group.

After Rizzo received a bunch of rolling eyes, the team followed Herb down Main Street until they were at the base of a hill.

"Get used to this boys, 'cause you're gonna be doing it a lot. I promised everyone that we would be the best. Not be the most talented, but we will be the best conditioned team come February," Herb rapped out, pacing along the line of his players.

"You are to go up and down this hill in order to build strength and stamina, as well as mental endurance. Keep in mind, the faster you run the quicker this will be over. Down and back 20 times, no stopping. If you stop, you will start the whole process again. If you fall, you will start again, simple as that. Doc will time you, so whoever finishes first will hold the top spot and get to do half the number of repetitions tomorrow. Yes, you will be doing this again after your game tomorrow. As for the slowest, be prepared to repeat the whole cycle again."

With that, Herb blew his whistle, signaling his players to begin the newly learned drill.

"You have got to be kidding me," Bah mumbled, glancing up the hill that seemed to never end. "Guys like Robby and Magic are gonna be competing to finish first, while I just don't want to come in last."

"Don't worry, Bah. You won't finish last if you trip Silky," Pav whispered with a wink and a chuckle.

Rolling his eyes, John focused on pacing himself next to Silky, in order to make sure he didn't finish behind him.

After ten repeats, most of the team was starting to get exhausted. Watching Rob and Mark have a conversation while effortlessly running up the hill made Bah's blood boil.

"I know what you're thinking," Mark Wells added from Bah's right. "You wish you could do this as effortlessly as them. Don't we all. We're about three laps behind them now."

"I think I'm gonna need a miracle to survive this," Bah huffed out, short of breath.

"Me too," Silky butted in from behind them.

Once they had gotten to the end of their thirteenth lap, Bah started to feel his legs shake from exhaustion.

"Come on, Bah! Legs Feed the Wolf!" Herb yelled out from the bottom of the hill.

"This wolf's not hungry," Bah muttered, struggling to scale the incline.

"This wolf's about to puke," Silky responded, managing to find some humor despite their pain.

"Agreed," a bunch of other players shouted out in unison.

Once Bah and Silky were at the top of the hill on their fifteenth lap, Robby and Mark were one hill away from finishing.

As their muscles became weaker and weaker, they had to be more cautious of their footing to avoid getting hurt.

Just when Bah had concluded that he was going to most likely die from having to do the whole thing again, Silky, who was a few feet in front him, lost his footing. Falling forward, he took out Robby, who was a few feet away from him, on his finishing descent. The two tumbled down the hill, entangled, until they reached the bottom.

"Are you guys alright?" Coach Patrick inquired, walking over towards the two scraped and bloodied players.

"What the fuck, Silky? You think that's funny?" Robby yelled, getting on his feet.

"It was an accident, Robby," Dave replied, struggling to get up.

"Once you two stop bickering, you can run the whole thing again!" Herb yelled, motioning up the hill.

Now, Bah was trying to hide his grin, from the satisfaction of knowing he wouldn't finish last. After majority of the team finished, Bah was on his last lap with Rizzo.

"You know, the lord works in strange ways, Rizzo," Bah replied, overcome with absolute relief at the expense of his teammates.

"Don't get too cocky there, Bah," Rizzo replied, "It may turn out to bite you in the ass."

As they finished the drill, they sat down with the rest of the team at the base of the hill, waiting for Silky and Mac.

While the boys knew to leave Silky alone, they had no problem jeering at Robby, and chants of his name soon began.

"You know, Bah, he did make fun of your haircut before," OC smirked, nudging him. "Maybe you should go trip him too."

"What? When?"

"Yeah, he said your bowl hair cut was hideous," Buzzy remarked from the group of boys.

Quite frankly, Bah was offended. He took great pride in his hair, and to hear that someone insulted him made him want to seek revenge.

Standing up, he walked over to where Coach Patrick and Herb were standing at the base of the hill.

"Hypothetically, if someone tripped after they finished, coach, would they have to start again?"

Shooting Bah a strange look, Herb replied, "Yes, Bah. You boys should have the ability to stay upright on your own two feet regardless of where you are and what you're doing."

Grinning, Bah waited for Rob to reach the bottom of the hill before sticking his foot out and tripping him.

"Oops. I guess my bowl cut was blocking my vision, sorry."

Absolutely stunned at what just happened, Rob's face was completely blank.

"Have fun running some more," Bah shot over his shoulder at the left winger. Turning around, he stopped dead in his tracks. "Oh, and by the way, Robby, at least I don't look like a hillbilly when I smile." Winking, Bah went back to the jumble of his teammates sitting in the snow, staring at him.

"Payback's a bitch."


	9. Cruisin' for a Bruisin'

"Great win, boys," Craig Patrick commended his team, walking into the locker room. "But I have some bad news. Our bus driver had a medical emergency, so you will all need to find alternative means of getting home."

Raising an eyebrow, OC stood up and scanned the locker room. Pointing to the group from Minnesota, he began, "They all have cars. What the hell are we supposed to do? Hitchhike?"

"You can take my car, Jack. I'll ride with Herb. That should fit enough guys that need a ride," Craig replied, thrusting his car keys towards Jack and company.

"Sweet!" Jack hollered, catching the keys. "OC's driving!"

Ralph's eyes widened in absolute horror. "If you're driving then I'm going home with Robby and Riff."

Biting his lip, he waited for his self acclaimed position to be approved.

"Sorry Coxie, Mac's car has reached capacity. We've got him, myself, Eric, Rammer, Janny, and we're squishing Brots."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Say your prayers now, Ralphie!" Jack hollered, sticking his tongue out.

As the group of OC, Ralph, Jack Hughes, Rizzo, and Silky piled into Craig's car, Rizzo questioned, "Wait! Were we supposed to take Jimmy?"

"Who cares. It's too late now," Silky replied, rubbing his temples. "Besides, I could use some silence sometime this year."

"Then you should go ride with Pav," Hughes remarked, raising his eyebrows.

"I didn't mean that quiet."

Once OC pulled out of the parking lot, the group realized they had no sense of direction whatsoever.

"Does anyone know how to get to Burnsville?"

After receiving no response, Jack put the car in park and got out. "Hold on a sec." Walking towards the car that was waiting behind them, he banged his fist on the window.

"What the hell are you doing?" The driver yelled, rolling down his window.

"We don't know how to get to Burnsville."

"So follow us," Riff recommended from the passenger seat, where Neal was currently seated on his lap.

"Alright."

Once Jack got back into the station wagon, he revealed the plan to his car mates. "Okay we're going to follow them home."

"I highly doubt this is going to turn out well," Ralph sighed, shaking his head.

"Trust in the process, Coxie," Hughes reassured his weary teammate. "OC will get us home safe."

Jack followed the Camaro of Minnesotans down state route 13 for approximately ten miles, until he began losing view of the vehicle.

"Why isn't Robby slowing down? Doesn't he see we're stuck way behind him?" Rizzo questioned from the middle seat.

"He can't just stop his car on the highway for us, Riz. That's why I knew this would be bad," Ralph conveyed, getting anxious.

"Oh relax, I'm sure once we go far enough we'll see a sign for Burnsville. Then I bet we can figure out our way to the apartments from there," Silky assured from the other side of Rizzo.

"I sure hope so."

After another six miles, the group saw a sign for Burnsville.

"Look! Exit 3A says Burnsville, OC!" Ralph called out, motioning towards the sign with an abundance of joy.

"See Coxie, I told you we'd be fine. Us East Coasters have all the street smarts."

After taking the exit, the task still remained of getting to the apartment complex.

"Now what?" Jack questioned, as the car approached a fork.

"Hmmm... which way do we think Robby would go?" Silky questioned.

"Left, so that means I'm going right," OC stated, steering the wagon to the right.

"That's some fucked up logic considering he knows the area and we don't, but I sure hope your instincts are correct, OC," Hughes mumbled, losing faith in his defensive partner.

"Do you see that guy in the left lane, behind us? He is swerving everywhere," Ralph observed, turned around in his seat.

"We. Are. Fine."

After traveling a quarter of a mile, the car adjacent to them began swerving into their lane, far enough to force OC to go off the road.

"We are not fine!" Ralph yelled, clutching his seatbelt for dear life.

"Relax, Coxie. The guy's probably drunk," Rizzo mumbled, squished between Ralph and Silky.

Eventually, the group caught up with the intoxicated driver. Rolling down their windows, they began shouting.

"Get off the road you drunk!" Hughes yelled, to which the driver replied by thrusting a beer bottle, denting Craig's car.

After a finger gesture from Silky and some more profanities from those named Jack, the drunk driver sped off.

"He fucking dented the car," OC muttered, absolutely outraged.

"Let's see if we can catch him and get his license plate," Rizzo stated calmly.

A few miles later, they caught up to the car at a stoplight. Hockey sticks in tow, Hughes and Silky exited their vehicle and began pounding away at the car in retaliation. Once they felt enough damage had been done, they quickly hopped back into the station wagon as OC sped off.

"So Silky, do you prefer a Christian or a Northland?" Hughes inquired, turning to the back.

Absolutely stunned at what they had just done, Dave had no response.

"Whichever one isn't hitting me," Ralph responded for him, eyes wide in disbelief as well.

"Well, looks like we made it home boys," OC remarked with a slight chuckle, upon spotting their apartment complex.

"Wow. Just wow," Rizzo mumbled, getting the vehicle.

"What if the police find us?" Silky questioned, fear overtaking his body.

"Us!? You mean you two, dumb and dumber," Ralph shot back, gesturing towards Hughes and Silk. "I had nothing to do with this."

"Me neither," Rizzo put in, holding his hands up.

"OC drove the get away car," Hughes smirked, clapping Jack on the back.

Rolling his eyes, Jack remarked, "I played no part in the destruction of that dude's car."

As the five hockey players walked into the apartment common area, they were greeted by a bunch of their teammates.

"Hey, where have you guys been?" Philly called out from the couch. "We got dinner an hour ago."

"Someone," Jack began, staring down Robby, "Forgot that we were following him home and ditched us."

"I figured you would go the opposite way regardless."

"So, how lost did you get?" Bah questioned from the arm of the couch.

"Lost wasn't the problem we encountered," Ralph responded, furrowing his brows at Hughes.

"Then what happened?"

"Let's just say someone was driving irresponsibly, and they got some payback for such reckless behavior," Jack assured, taking a spot on one of the couches, and stealing the beer out of Robby's hands. "I deserve this."

"He got what was coming to him," Hughes added in, sitting down next to OC.

"In lamest terms," Silky began, "He was cruisin' for a bruisin'... to his car."


	10. Makers of Dreams

The summer had come and gone, with constant traveling mixed in with the anxiety of possibly getting cut. Now, it was halfway through September, and majority of the team was starting to become exhausted. A flight home from Dallas became the temporary fix for those sleep deprived, but the jet lag to come would still be inevitable.

Peering out the small airplane window, he couldn't help but be fascinated by it all- the amazing technological advances that made it all possible, the spectacular shades of blue that existed to infinity, and the thrill of the unknown.

"Whatcha looking at?" A voice whispered, as the person slid into the adjacent vacant seat.

Turning, he questioned, "So you're a seat hopper now, Magic?"

"Temporarily, yes. I'm bored and Robby fell asleep. Plus, I don't particularly enjoy being used as a pillow to be drooled on," Mark replied, making himself comfortable in the seat.

"Ah, I see. Well if you have two functioning eyes you could tell that I'm looking at the sky."

"Okay, but why so in depth?" Mark inquired, trying to see what his teammate found so intriguing in the empty mass of blue.

"Why not? It's such a complex creation. I mean, aren't you amazed that we're currently traveling through it?" He answered, not moving his head away from the glass.

"Well, it's cool that such a method of traveling is possible, but what do you expect? There's a space race going on, so aeronautics are just going to keep expanding," the Wisconsinite remarked with a shrug.

"It's not about the aircraft developments, Mark. It's about the endless possibilities there are with what we already have. Think of the things that haven't be attempted or even thought of yet."

"I can guarantee you I won't be the one to attempt it," Mark responded, raising his eyebrows in what was a mix of fear and disbelief. "But you on the other hand," he continued, "seem to be crazy enough to do this."

"I'm not crazy. I'm daring. Daring to explore so much more of what the universe has to offer," he replied, envisioning his possibilities.

Just as Mark was about to reply, a stewardess entered the economy class. "If you boys do not remove those cowboy hats at once, you will all be charged a $7,000 fine!"

The team had left their cowboy hats in first class seats, as they could not fit them underneath their own during the flight.

"Welp, we might as well start begging, boys," Koho called out, retrieving and flipping his hat, outstretching it to other passengers.

"Help fund your Olympic hockey team and its stylish hats!" Bah yelled, as people began throwing items into his hat. The more spare change they collected, the funnier the scene became.

"Now, Koho and Bah, they're crazy. Mark, can I ask you something?"

Nodding, Mark took off his shoes and folded his feet on the seat cushion. "Feel like I'm gonna be here awhile," he added with a wink.

"Seriously, do you ever think of what you'll do after you quit hockey?"

Raising an eyebrow, Mark thought long and hard about his answer. "Probably another job that has some involvement with the sport. What about you?"

"I don't know, I just, I feel like there's so much more I want to do in my lifetime. So much more I want to learn, and so many places I want to explore," he answered, picturing his future.

"So what does that mean?"

"It means I seriously think I want to be an airline pilot."

"Wow, th-that's certainly s-s-omething to a-as-spire for," Mark stuttered, completely shocked at the words coming out of his teammate's mouth.

"Yep. I dream big, but also realistically as I know this is something I can do. Maybe not now, but in ten years, guess what you'll be calling me?"

A small smirk forming on the centers face, he responded,

"Captain Christoff."


	11. OC's Playin' Baby!

_This is dedicated to Michael Mantenuto, who played Jack O'Callahan in "Miracle". May his soul find eternal peace._ ❤️

 **February 14, 1980** _USA vs CZECHS_

Herb Brooks walked into locker room 5 with nothing but absolute confidence. He believed that a coach's attitude would fuse into his players.

"I want everyone dressed tonight." Walking over towards Mac, who refused to look Herb in the eyes, he rapped out, "You better be ready to go 100%."

Walking back to the middle of the locker room, Herb pointed a finger at Jack. "Don't get any ideas. Just because I'm having you dress, doesn't mean I'm gonna let you on that ice, Jack."

Rolling his eyes, Jack retorted, "How come you'll let him go but not me?"

Ignoring Jack, Herb continued, "Johnson line starts. Let's get ready to skate." With that, he left the locker room.

Halfway through the game, Jack was starting to get anxious on the bench. He was highly considering telling Morrow that he was going to reclaim his shifts.

"Don't do it. I know what you're thinking. Don't do it, Jack."

"What?"

"Herb will let you go soon, I promise. Don't try to jump the gun," Phil replied, giving Jack a supportive pat.

 **February 16, 1980** _USA vs NORWAY_

"Coneheads starting. Everyone dressed, 19 playing," Herb tersely commanded, before leaving the locker room.

"Are you kidding me?" Jack called out, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Relax, OC. You'll get your shot," Rizzo reassured him from across the small room.

"When?" Motioning to Robby, he continued, "He gets hurt, Herb forces him to keep playing. I get hurt a week ago and he won't even let me touch the ice! Where the fuck is that logic?"

"You wanna be in my position? Well, you can have it," Rob muttered, tying his skate laces.

"I'm just not understanding why Herb won't let me go, okay? How will he know without testing me out?" Jack replied, throwing his hands in the air.

"Your time will come soon, OC."

 **February 18, 1980** _USA vs ROMANIA_

"I want Christoff with McClanahan and Johnson. Strobel with Broten and Eruzione. First line starts. Same line up as Norway. Let's get a good win in, boys," Herb rapped out, before exiting the locker room with the team's doctor.

"I cannot fucking take this!" Jack yelled. "I'm ready to go, I know I am!"

"Just wait for Herb's okay, Jack. Don't disobey him, or you won't play at all," Bill Baker warned.

Watching his team play without him, Jack became extremely overwhelmed. He wanted nothing more than to play for his country, and his opportunity was passing before his eyes.

Throwing his head into his gloves, he felt a tap on the back. Looking up, he was eye to eye with Craig Patrick.

Whispering into Jack's ear, Craig began, "Be ready to go, OC. I'm not promising anything, but make sure you're ready."

Overcome with excitement, Jack felt his heart flutter. "Thank you, Craig!"

"Just remember, no promises." Winking, Craig walked to the other end of the bench where Herb was.

Shaking from excitement, Jack was ready to just burst out onto the ice. The third period was now halfway over, and he was starting to become worried that he wouldn't get his chance. Finally settling in on the fact that he wasn't going to get to play, Jack took off his gloves and massaged his temples.

"Next shift, OC."

Eyes wide, Jack turned around. "What?"

"You're taking the next shift," Herb replied.

As Baker and Christian were skating to the bench, Jack and Rammer were getting ready to hop over.

As they looked at each other, and Rammer shot him a big smile, Jack screamed, "OC's playin' baby!" Leaping over the bench, he rushed out onto the ice. Slamming into the first Romanian he saw, he pushed the puck out to Riff, who handled it and scored.

As the celebration headed to the bench, someone behind Jack whispered, "Way to be out there, OC."

Turning around, Jack became confused when he saw that there was no one behind him. In fact, Herb was the closest person that was behind the bench.


	12. Pass, Shoot, Score

**Because 1/3 of the Coneheads has a birthday today! Happy Birthday Bah!**

"Who is going to work with this kid? No one!" Herb muttered in frustration from center ice.

"We have to find someone to gel with him, Herb," Craig replied, scanning the roster on his clipboard. "They've already played together at UMD, so what if we have him center Harrington?"

"Yeah and who?"

"Hmm... what about Broten?" Craig inquired, scanning the players that were currently doing drills.

"Nope, I want him as a center," Herb responded, sighing in frustration at trying to put together line combinations.

"Eruzione?"

"He's not even on the same planet as Pavelich, Craig. We need someone to match his speed."

"So then McClanahan?" Pointing to the Minnesotan left wing, Craig continued, "That would be one speedy line."

"Let's try it," Herb nodded, before blowing his whistle. "Alright boys, let me get Pavelich between Harrington and McClanahan. Run the drill through."

As the three hockey players lined up, Herb shot the puck out to Pav. Circling around Mac, Pav sent a centering pass to Bah on the right side. Receiving the puck, Bah backhanded it right back to Pav, who made a move around Jimmy and scored.

Looking each other in the eyes, Craig whispered to Herb, "That was pointless. He did absolutely nothing."

"I can see that. Which means our last option is Schneider," Herb responded, scribbling something on his notepad.

Blowing his whistle again, Herb rapped out, "Might as well have had two guys running that. You were about as effective as a tree stump on that play, McClanahan. Let me see it again with Schneider on left wing."

As Buzzy replaced Mac, the trio prepared to perform the drill again. Once Herb shot the puck out to Pav again, he shot it up to Bah, who fired it across the ice to Buzzy. Buzz backhanded to Pav, who caught Bah going backdoor. As Buzz was still trailing, Bah poked the puck over to him, and he scored five-hole on Jimmy.

"Woo!" Bah called out in celebration.

"Nice pass, Bah," Buzz responded, clapping his teammate on the shoulder.

"Nice shot, Buzz," Pav added it.

"That was some awesome passing there, Pav," Bah complimented, rubbing his college teammate's helmet.

Herb, who was absolutely stunned, asked the boys to perform the drill again, to which they executed exactly the same.

Later that night, Herb received a knock on his office door. Looking up, he spotted Craig.

"The Coneheads are coming in, Herb."

"Who?"

"The Coneheads. That's what the boys have been calling them after their little, you know."

Raising an eyebrow, Herb had no idea what Craig was referring to.

"The sketch from SNL. Must be off your radar," Craig continued, standing up once another knock was heard.

"Come on in, boys," Herb called, motioning into his office.

"Rest up," Craig added in on his way out.

"Something you wanted to tell us, coach?" Bah questioned, nerves taking over his body at the fear of getting cut.

"Yes. I'm thinking about keeping the three of you on the same line together. Everybody okay with that?" Herb inquired, taking off his glasses.

"I'm mean it's a little different playing with them, but everyone's moving the puck well," Buzz responded, nodding his head.

"Yeah, it just seems like we're always able to find each other at the end of the ice and make things happen," Bah continued, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yep. Pass, shoot, score," Pav added in from the right, slightly behind Bah.

"Pass."

"Shoot."

"Score."


End file.
